


How in Hell

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butch isn't sure how he got to Rivet City. Doesn't want to know, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How in Hell

First person Butch saw stepping out of the vault was- miraculously not a raider- Crow. He somehow managed to miss Megaton completely and wound up near Farragut, out of ammo and cowering from mirelurks. Crow took pity, and let him tag along. Vault kid turned out to be more trouble than he was worth, though, constantly complaining and unloading a clip in everything that twitched.

When they hit Arefu, Crow dumped some caps in his hand and (after explaining that yes, bottlecaps were something people wanted) told him to buy himself a drink. Crow was halfway to Bigtown by the time Butch figured out there wasn’t a bar in Arefu.

The guy in the barnhouse was nice- a little weird, but only in the way that kept him away from windows and compelled him to padlock the fridge- but he let Butch sleep in his bed at night, because he slept during the day. When the next caravan blew through, Doc Hoff gave Butch an inhaler of something to “help him man up” in exchange for those lousy bottlecaps.

It’s all kind of a blur after that. He vaguely remembers  robots fighting sexy insects, getting tossed out of a bar by some old guy with a weird accent, and asking “Is this normal?” when a woman’s head exploded as she ran screaming from the town Hoff was trading with. Somebody handed him a bottle of whiskey, and then he doesn’t remember anything until Crazy Wolfgang pulling him out of a dumpster.

“I hope you didn’t puke in there. Garbage is my livelihood!”

Butch swallowed what had migrated from his stomach to his throat, and it burned worse going down the second time. “Where am I?”

Wolfgang swept an arm broadly over the wrecked landscape. “The illustrious Jury Street Metro Station!”

Butch cringed through the worst hangover of his life (thus far). “Where’s that?”

“Oh, northeast of Evergreen Mills.”

“Where’s _that_?”

Wolfgang smiled, and clapped a hand to his shoulder. It left a dirty handprint on his jacket. “Why don’t I just show you?”

Wolfgang’s mercenary had died in the Bethesda Ruins (wherever that was), and since Butch hit one in every four shots or so, the caravaneer took him on- at least until he could find someone competent. Crazy Wolfgang taught him to ignore everyone in power armor, shoot something until it stopped moving (and no more), and to stay out of the goddamn metro. Would’ve taught him more, but their next stop was Rivet City, and there was an unemployed merc in Rivet City. So, in Rivet City Butch stayed- or, more specifically, in a bottle of whiskey, and he didn’t leave until someone needed a haircut, or someone forcibly dragged him out.

Person who dragged him wasn’t Harkness this time, oddly enough, but good ol’ Nosebleed, smelly and greasy and glad to see him. “Butch! How in hell did you get here!?”

Butch just shrugged and shook his head, because really, it was anyone’s guess.


End file.
